


Always On Your Mind

by acidpop25



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Dreams, F/M, POV Female Character, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-13
Updated: 2011-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:42:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidpop25/pseuds/acidpop25
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She has dreams about him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always On Your Mind

She has dreams about him. She has since he first swung into her life like an overexcited puppy, unruly and troublesome but impossible to stay angry with for very long. Maybe it should have concerned her, but he and his messes occupy Lisbon's conscious worries so often that it hardly seemed surprising her subconscious would follow suit. Patrick Jane is a force of nature, like magnetism or gravity: he pulls everything in, keeps everyone in his orbit. Lisbon isn't even sure it's deliberate anymore. Not always.

The dreams aren't sexual. There is one, one that she gets every once in a while, that doesn't seem to be anything at all. She is in an open field with the pony, on one of those clear, bright days where you can see forever, but in the dream there is nothing to see but the field. And then there is Jane, and Lisbon's dream-self doesn't question his sudden appearance, just hands him the reins she is leading the horse by, and dream-Jane smiles his brilliant smile, sunny as the day, and takes them. The warm leather makes a loop around his hand, and they walk together without saying a word.

Lisbon wakes from that dream feeling calmer than usual, feeling ready to take her day as it comes. The feeling doesn't last– more often than not it's Jane himself, the real Jane, who makes it fizzle out with stress– but for a little while, as Lisbon drinks her morning coffee, things seem okay. It's not like the tense dreams she gets that border on nightmares, the dreams with gunshots and confusion and fights.

It's not Lisbon's subconscious that betrays her, makes her blush when he plays his mind games with her and plays to win. She isn't afraid of the dreams. It is her waking hours that leave her anxious and wound too tight, the moments when she catches herself wondering at the golden curls at the nape of his neck or the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. She wonders if he knows– he must, she thinks, surely he must, and is grateful to whatever it is that holds him back from anything more than idle teasing in idle moments, teasing that can be brushed off and quickly forgotten by any witnesses.

She _is_ grateful, because she is his boss, and she has worked hard to get where she is. She doesn't want to jeopardize that for the idiotic moment she knows could happen if Jane wanted it to, all because of his easy charm and the pretty skin just above his collar. She's grateful.

Most days.


End file.
